


From a Candid Heart

by chantefable



Category: The Eagle | The Eagle of the Ninth (2011)
Genre: Ancient Rome, Idiots in Love, M/M, Post-Canon, Road Trips
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-18
Updated: 2017-12-18
Packaged: 2019-02-16 14:29:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13055880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chantefable/pseuds/chantefable
Summary: In which Marcus Flavius Esca, son of Cunoval, a freedman, shall be ridiculed by a short horse bought from a Pictones trader, fed by a tavern keeper not otherwise identified, and continuously bewildered by Marcus Flavius Aquila, his friend and patron.Or, it takes Esca a long time to realise what he and Marcus had actually agreed upon.





	From a Candid Heart

**Author's Note:**

  * For [foxxcub](https://archiveofourown.org/users/foxxcub/gifts).



> A note on nomenclature and Esca's social status: a freedman took the praenomen and nomen of his former master, who was now his patron, and added his slave name as a cognomen. If his master was a Roman citizen and he was freed formally, he became a Roman citizen. Therefore, Esca's legal name post-movie should be Marcus Flavius Esca and he is most likely a citizen now.
> 
> If you really want to get into the headspace for this Gallic road trip, a proper Ancient Roman soundtrack is in order to accompany this story: [Ludus](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=13_kRntszO4) by Synaulia.
> 
>  
> 
> **Happy Yuletide!**

“Tityrus, lying back beneath wide beechen cover,  
You meditate the woodland Muse on slender oat;  
We leave the boundaries and sweet ploughlands of home.”

Virgil

  
“ _This is dreadful, utterly dreadful,_ ” muttered Esca under his breath in Brigantes tongue. 

Truth be told, the further south they ventured by land, the more frequently Esca had recourse to that most passionate of languages.

Not in some tender hope that Marcus might not understand him, since he knew full well that Marcus had already picked up some of Esca's language during their journey beyond the wall, never mind later, when they had conversed about everything and nothing out of sheer boredom, first during Marcus' convalescence when his leg had had to be reopened again when they were back in Calleva, and then during the voyage across the sea to Belgica… No, the only reason for Esca to express himself in this native tongue was that Latin, with its heavy words and long and ornamental sentences, could hardly convey the sheer magnitude of Esca's wretchedness as he crawled out from yet another ditch.

“ _May Lugh blast the skies open and wash away this useless piece of shit fiction of a road forever,_ ” he spat out and stood as best as he could, ankle deep in slick mud, attempting to straighten his tunic and breeches. 

The horse, which Esca had bought from a Pictones trader in the last village, was short and fat and surprisingly cunning, and it now eyed him with no hint of concern. Esca had no shred of doubt it intended to have him off its back at the next tricky bit of the road, preferring to be rid of a bloody foreigner who dragged it fuck knows where to do fuck knows what, and not be sinking in dirt and misery instead.

Esca could not deny he understood quite a bit of what the horse might have felt.

He shrouded all his spite and malice in the language of Brigantes and ranted to his heart's content.

Once he felt somewhat relieved (the reddish mud and blades of grass from the ditch had dried on the hem of his breeches and sleeves of his tunic in some semblance of a woebegone decoration by then), Esca steeled himself, grabbed the reins of the short traitorous horse, and waded forth. 

It was a long way through Gallia Aquitania.

*

“Too open nets even simple birds do shun.”

Ovid

  
“I cannot believe you,” Esca groused. “Here I am, bruised all over and with all sorts of filth caked on my clothing, like a luckless vagrant fallen under the wheel of Taranis, and yet you are perfectly fine and have had a delightful journey.” Esca hoped his voice conveyed manful discontent instead of turning into a boyish whine in the face of such blatant unfairness, but going by the way Marcus kept trying to hide his smile in a cup of mead, he was hardly successful.

“How can this be? I could hardly leave you alone in Britannia lest something happen to you; gods, I could hardly step away in Belgica without you upturning someone's pottery cart on the market, you ox -”

“That was one time!” Marcus protested, voice loud and soft with sweet mead already.

“That cost as much as many times! And whenever I would look away there was some Atrebates trying to find you an advantageous match and what not. And here, where it's hot and wet and wretched everywhere, and the people were apparently the most vehement in opposing Roman rule, you're thriving! I swear you have become fatter these weeks in Narbo without me. No more Numidian chicken for you.” With this, Esca dragged the full plate closer to himself and shoved a piece of meat, dark and sticky with honey, into his mouth.

Marcus pouted. “We had agreed I would ride ahead and get our affairs in order here while you recovered from the cold, and the Autobroges did not mind you staying -”

“Thrice-blasted rains,” Esca grumbled around a piece of chicken.

“Yes, and that is strange that the cold mists and pouring rains of Britannia do not touch you, but a little drizzle here in the Aquitani land and you are out,” Marcus said with odd fondness, and promptly stared at the mead pitcher when Esca glared at him. “Anyway, it is not as if I have been idle and gorging myself like a bull for market day while you were sick! We need as much time and effort as possible to prepare thoroughly. One cannot just travel across the Pyrenees because one feels like it.”

“Funny, I thought that was exactly what that Hannibal of yours had done.” Esca finally reached for the mead. 

“Hannibal was not one of ours,” began Marcus, and then scowled. “You just say that to taunt me, Esca; by Mithras, you are worse than a feckless boy sometimes.” He wrestled the pitcher out of Esca's hand and poured Esca a cup himself. “And he may have passed through the Pyrenees just fine, but not through the Alps. Which teaches us that mountains are mountains and one should not be overconfident.”

“Mountains are mountains. Thank you for this momentous insight, centurion. Maybe it is time to lay off the mead, for this humble tavern cannot possibly house the untamed grandeur of your plans.”

Marcus looked like he might have wished to say something, but he just shook his head and rolled his eyes instead.

“You are far too cranky when you are hungry,” he said, rising to his feet and ambling towards the owner of the tavern. One could barely see the limp, Esca noted as he took a sip to wash off the date flavour from his tongue. The mead was weak and tasted like it had been diluted with spring water more than once. Esca could only wonder how such a sorry excuse for a drink could make a man of Marcus' size all soft smiles and happy laughter.

“I ordered us a piece of the roasted boar,” Marcus said, sitting down heavily. “It is their specialty.”

“That is what they said in Tolosa. And in Burdigala. Boars everywhere, one would think there were more boars here than Gauls themselves.” Esca scooped up the peppery, nutty sauce with a bit of meat and offered it to Marcus. “At least, more than actual Romans.”

“You know, _that_ might very well be true,” Marcus replied with a grin, and carefully reached to take the piece of meat from Esca's fingers; with no great success, mind, since he brushed across Esca's sticky knuckles anyway, and there was quite a bit of tugging involved: the honeyed glaze was stubborn and would not give. Esca frowned.

“Anyway,” Marcus continued, now carefully holding the bit of meat. “You look like you could use the food. It's like you weren't riding the horse here but carrying it on your back.”

That was surprisingly accurate, but Esca prioritised chewing over giving a full account of his travel woes. “I can carry enough on my back if need be.”

“I know.”

There was that same quiet fondness that made Esca's skin itch worse than the clay that had soaked through his breeches and dried with no regard for propriety. It was as if here sick and addled once again, lying snotty and feverish in the guest-house in the Autobroges village, unable to make sense of the overwhelming concern in Marcus' gaze.

Truly, hunger played tricks with one's mind as much as the most dreadful decease. Esca eyed the bowl of beans with cumin speculatively and pulled it closer to himself.

“You might want to pace yourself, Esca, there's boar coming.” But it's not like Marcus was fighting him for the beans, choosing to fiddle with a piece of bread instead.

“We'll pace ourselves through the Pyrenees, Marcus. Right now, I wish to be immoderate and lush.” Shoving a huge helping of beans into his mouth, Esca saluted Marcus with his cup.

“Intemperance and gluttony rouse unchaste thoughts in certain minds,” Marcus replied.

Esca would have boggled at the primness but he was too busy sputtering and spitting out his watery mead instead.

“This tastes vile,” he said, wiping the mead stains with his sleeve and choosing to drop the matter entirely.

Marcus just hummed and took away Esca's cup, refilling it. “I assure you, the boar makes up for it.” With this, he proceeded to play with his piece of bread and drink from Esca's cup, looking as pink-cheeked and content as Esca had ever seen him.

*

“Like a gale smiting an oak  
On mountainous terrain,  
Eros, with a stroke,  
Shattered my brain.”

Sappho

  
“ _May Taranis smite me with lightning if I have to take another step_ ,” mumbled Esca in Brigantes as they ambled along. He missed the inn, the fragrant bread doused in olive oil, and the warm bed. The novelty of the journey had long since worn off. At this point, it was one cheerful sunlit hill after another, the mountain ridges stark and handsome against the clear blue skies. 

Esca could not believe this was his life. For months now, no one had stabbed him, whipped him, beaten him, or made his life miserable save for the nasty bit of cold that had rendered him useless a while earlier. His manumission was in his trunk, his affairs were otherwise in order, and, after Summum Pyrenaeum, they would be relentlessly heading further south, towards Valentia Edetanorum. As far as Esca was concerned, they could very well stay there, one Roman town in the south no different than another, but Marcus had other plans.

Marcus eyed him with merriment. “This pass is barely two stades in altitude. Come along, Esca, and, for what it's worth, we will be in Hispania.”

“I simply cannot believe the gods had tricked me into spouting this nonsense. Why did I ever say anything about a farm, and horses, and Hispania? We should have simply stayed in Belgica.”

“Ah, but then _I_ would have worried about you eloping with some advantageous match of the Atrebates, and leaving your poor patron alone and miserable. I would have grown hopelessly dull and old, and taken up some forsaken post, like a scribe at the Procurator's office, while you – herded horses, and, and rode off to the frontier to rouse barbarians to mutiny -”

“Oh, for Lugh's sake, Marcus, do be quiet. This Roman road may be paved very well, but I will not hesitate to pry out a stone and throw it at your foolish head.” 

For some reason, the idea that _Esca_ would be the one to run off on Marcus to start a family without him seemed preposterous and viciously unpleasant, but Esca could not begin to articulate why. Luckily, Marcus seemed amused enough without any further input on Esca's part.

“Anyway, I am sure you will like it in Valentia. It is one of the most important towns in Hispania Tarraconensis, and we'll have to pay respects to Uncle's friends, of course, but the circus is magnificent, I hear, and we will arrive just in time for the Megalesia. I am sure you will love the war dancers, and the chariot races. Some of it is quite similar to what you have in Britannia, though of course, different. And then we shall go to Hispalis -”

“The birthplace of Emperor Hadrian, yes, for the sake of Mithras you hold so dear, Marcus, you only talked of it a thousand times so far!” 

“Divine Hadrian,” Marcus corrected him, perfectly straight-faced. “And actually, he hailed from Italica, which is quite close. We do have to stop by as well, for there are people I need to be formally acquainted with.”

“Honestly, I am surprised _that_ is not where we are heading,” said Esca, feet skidding on the stones as he dragged the horse along. “Given that _divine Hadrian_ himself hailed from there.”

Marcus gave an undignified snort. “You would not like it there, it is a very Roman city. Very traditional and residential. Besides,” he continued snidely, “had I known you intended to be kept in style in Italica, I would have been far more frugal and avoided upturning pottery carts with greater prudence. And asked Uncle to lend me more money, since you are being so awfully particular -”

“I -!” Esca sputtered in indignation.

“Is that a theme with you now, dear friend? First Hannibal, and now a city founded by Scipio Africanus?” Marcus kept laughing, even as Esca gathered his wits and jogged forth to poke him in the arm.

“I am most certainly not particular, nor – difficult to please, nor -”

“A man of ridiculously expensive tastes?” Marcus was now giggling in earnest. 

“Quite so.” Esca gathered all his dignity around him, as befit the son of Cunoval.

“It is a good thing we are not going to Hispalis, then, to buy a farm on recommendation of Uncle's friends from Valentia. A farm the upkeep of which would include pastures, and pigs, and vegetable gardens, and a house with staff, including Greeks to do the accounting, help with the taxes business...” Marcus teased before noticing that Esca had fallen still and silent.

Esca was, in fact, gaping like a fish. 

A gentle breeze teased the horses' manes. They, too, seemed unimpressed with Esca's abhorrent lack of astuteness.

They had been travelling for many, many weeks now, and seemed to have talked of everything under the sun, yet some valuable minutiae of their future life had apparently eluded Esca completely.

He felt himself flush to the tips of his ears under Marcus' softening gaze, overcome by a great sense of embarrassment. He honestly had not stopped to think what a great expense it was, to breed horses properly, in the Roman way and not how his tribe had done it, trading with the other free tribes. 

It had simply not occurred to him, not in the beginning, not ever, to fully ponder what that meant, a house and slaves or freedpeople, and crops and vegetables, and animals other than pigs, and going to town on market days, and tax collectors, certainly, and all the book-keeping. Of course it was never going to be just the two of them, and Esca's heart had been heavy with vague dread that one day Marcus would indeed marry – perhaps not a boisterous Atrebates girl with long blond braids, but _someone_ ; however, he had never properly thought, before that moment, that he would need to share Marcus' company with numerous other people.

Even if Brigantia granted him her grace and split him in twelve, to work the fields and tend to the horses, care for the household and ride out to trade, there would still be need for at least one other person. None of Esca's gods could ever make him educated, literate, and fluent in Latin and Greek.

Or able to do the proper calculations for Roman taxes.

Marcus had simply said to him, _you decide_ , and done as he wished. Esca was abruptly dizzy with the realisation that his whim must be worth a fortune, and Marcus, for all his playful teasing, seemed to have been in favour of humouring him all along.

A warm, dry wind blew from over the mountains, soothing the inappropriate sting in his eyes.

Esca became aware that Marcus was clasping his shoulder, all of him radiating concern.

“I have not thought it well,” began Esca, voice tight. His accent became thicker. “I had no wish to demand of you anything you were not willing, or free to give.”

“You haven't,” Marcus said simply. “It is a very fine idea. Something new, for both of us.”

At this, Esca felt tension increase within him, and struggled to express the reason for the awkwardness that – at last! – had rightfully beset him, for this was all dreadfully humiliating and inappropriate, as if he were – some princeling extorting riches in exchange for his companionship, and it was nothing like what he and Marcus were to each other, nothing at all. Even though such an arrangement had not been unthinkable among his people; but he had never intended to suggest, or _demand_ -

“ _I know_ ,” Marcus interrupted him, and Esca was shocked to hear him speak in Brigantes. “It was in my heart to offer it, though, and that has not changed. Nor will it change. You are worth it.”

Esca's heart was beating very fast, faster than in the arena. Faster than when he had run in the rain to fetch Guern. Candour swelled in him, pushing aside all that was petty and distracting.

“Then that is what I wish, for both of us. And that will not change.” Having said that, Esca allowed himself to enjoy the return of Marcus' soft smile for a moment, before leaning in and tasting it for the first time.

And after, having lavished more kisses upon each other and brought their clothing to a state of disarray, they saw that the horses had grown impatient and had trotted down, cart and all, to graze the grass on the edge of the road well ahead of them.

So they hurried, side by side, to leave the low pass behind them and step onto Via Herculea together.

The very air tasted sweeter in Hispania, and Esca had never felt more joyous or content.

*

“that our two lives may be linked in their length  
day to day,  
each to each,  
in a bond of sacred fidelity.”

Catullus

  


**Author's Note:**

> It is somewhat hilarious that the movie epilogue inadvertently sets Esca up as some ridiculously high maintenance sugar baby. A farm, with horses, in Spain? Even given the eagle retrieval bonus, that is a bit much to demand from an invalid Roman veteran who had probably been dismissed from service with a lump sum of 12,000 sesterces. It is a testament to how much Marcus is smitten that he doesn't even bat an eyelash. The actual logistics are bound to be pretty complicated, not to mention the taxes for the kind of estate proper horse farming required. Marcus is definitely 100% committed in this relationship. :)
> 
> Trivia:
> 
> Marcus and Esca are on their way to Hispania. They have travelled through Gallia Aquitania and are taking the route of Via Domitia through Gallia Narbonensis to get across the Pyrenees. 
> 
> (Before this, they probably travelled to Burdigala by sea, from a port in Belgica. Otherwise it's just Marcus dragging Esca along the scenic route in France for no particular reason.)
> 
> They are crossing the Pyrenees in the same place Hannibal Barca probably did: Col du Perthus, a relatively easy passage even in ancient times, near the eastern end of the mountains by the Mediterranean. Known as Summum Pyrenaeum back then, it joins Via Domitia and Via Augusta (aka Via Herculea). Their final destination is Hispalis in Hispania Baetica (now Seville in Spain).
> 
> Numidian-style chicken (Pullum Numidicum) and fava beans with cumin (Conchicla Cum Faba) are actual Roman dishes.
> 
> Publius Cornelius Scipio Africanus, best known for defeating Hannibal Barca at Zama, founded Italica to settle his veterans. Both Emperor Trajan and Emperor Hadrian were born there.
> 
> Magna Mater, Great Mother of the Gods, was the Phrygian goddess Cybele whose cult was adopted and adapted in Rome during the second war with Carthage (in the hopes Cybele would help them win). The Megalesia festival started on April 4 and included various entertainments, plays commissioned from popular playwrights, and chariot races.
> 
> Virgil is quoted in the Guy Lee translation, Sappho in the Aaron Poochigian translation, Catullus in the Peter Whigham translation. The title is likewise from the latter translation of Catullus 109.


End file.
